Before the Future
by Teardrops and Roses
Summary: Before the futures of "those meddling kids" could be dreamed of, their parents first had to discover the truths behind the greatest mystery of all: Love.
1. A Forward From the Author

Thank you, at the very least, for your curiosity. If you choose, simply click to the next chapter for the story; however, feel free to read on if you wish.

No, this is not your usual story for a Scooby-doo audience. Nor is it a modern-day take on the "Gang." In fact, this particular prequel only drops mention of our favorite "meddling kids" in the last chapters. And yes, it does have a very long, tedious, and perhaps boring introduction.

However, this story is a presentation of the "Scooby-Doo" history unlike ever before written for the Scooby-Doo Fan base. I have literally _studied_ every known fan-site and knowledgeable database (written in English) of Scooby-Doo in order to ensure this is done as "cannon-ly" as possible. Yes, I am taking extreme liberties by writing this piece; and although I am attempting to keep the cannon relations, I cannot say how well I will execute this story.

One of the greatest tragedies is that, while cannon is important to me, keeping this story realistic takes first place (as I hope to make this story relatable to the reader). Thus, Scooby cannot speak and relatives such as "Uncle Shaggworthy" and other such "Shagg-" names were removed as they are obvious characters and not true people.

Also, as you read the story, please keep in mind that there is no specific time that I have placed these characters. There is a mixture of years, issues, and the sort which will probably make you assume one era, and in the next chapter there will be a contradicting theme. Please note that these are not inconsistencies; I merely wished this story would be set apart from an exact time period and only have a time line of unlabeled years to aid it. I hope that this does not turn you away or confuse you as you read.

I promise that this history of how the gang came to be is like nothing you have ever read and, quite possibly, everything you have always pondered when considering your favorite "Meddling Kids." With that, I say "Thank you, and I pray you enjoy the read."

Sincerely,

"Emmalie"


	2. The Beginning of the Blakes

It was a life of luxury and privilege for one born a Blake. Even in such economical disasters as the present depression did not seem to hold an effect on the family. Known as high society in Coolsville, the city below their hill-top dwelling of Sufisticatown, even those who worked for the Blake estate were considered to be similar to royalty. But ever since the age of twelve, Reginald "Reggie" Blake had only felt his world close in on him more and more each day.

It wasn't as if he had ever lived a difficult life, or that he had felt suffocated by the world he was born into. If anything, Reginald had enjoyed being waited on, basked in the ability to have his desires with no more work than a simple request from his lips. Yet in the third month of his twelfth year, everything changed.

Years of stiff collars, drunken men, and gossiping women had made him accustomed to the type of party he would soon be attending with his parents. Appearance was everything in their society; from the smallest detail of the thread used to apply a button on a shirt, to the most blatant appearance of a struggling marriage…But of course, a matter like that was never discussed at a party, except though purged whispers.

That night, Reginald sat in the backseat of the Rolls Royce; it was his first time attending a party in a differing vehicle than his parents. He sighed aloud as he watched his gated community of mansions tower over him. Each estate appeared nearly identical to those neighboring, but he had always assumed this be quite normal of most residential areas and thought nothing of the fact as the car came to a halt.

"Master Blake, we have arrived to the party," the driver announced.

The boy stirred from his meandering thoughts and made note of his acknowledgment. "Oh, yes. Well then, thank you, Wesley."

"You're welcome, Sir. And may I wish you an enjoyable evening," replied the driver as a butler opened the back door of the car.

"You may. And…um," he paused, attempting to remember what else his father usually dabbled on when being spoken to by a driver. "The same to you." With that, Reginald exited the vehicle, straightened his clothing, and nodded to the doorman. Finally, he was admitted into the hallway of the Master's family palace.

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Author's Note: If this **completely** disinterests you, PLEASE, TELL ME! I would hate to continue working on this all-too elaborate story only to find out absolutely no one cares to read it.


	3. The Little Lady

Isabelle Masters was only ten years old when her parents decided to throw her a coming out party. Her older brother, Beauregard, had never experienced his own party as he was a male and such parties were rather tiresome at his age. However, as he was five years her senior, he gawked at the idea when his parents had spoken to both he and his sister of the party they had planned for her.

Nevertheless, as the music swelled throughout the house and the entryway filled with guests moving along to the dance hall, none of the objections seemed to matter. Young Isabelle sat upstairs, in her bedroom, at the wooden vanity which her mother had purchased for the special occasion. Giselle, one of her favorite maids, had only just finished styling her hair. As Isabelle was only ten, there was not much to say for her looks. Though she was a sweet child, with delicate short blond waves of hair that framed her face in a simple "bob," she had aged just beyond the "cute years." Despite this, her form still displayed a pudgy layer of "baby fat," but she was not what anyone might consider as overweight. Thankfully, for her mother's piece of mind more than her own, she had not yet reached the awkward years of a child's growth; overall, she was neither cute nor awkward. At ten years old, Isabelle Masters simply was.

Her parents, Amy and Geoffrey Masters, watched as their daughter finished being readied. While her father did not particularly enjoy having a daughter, he never made this fact altogether noticeable. His bright blond hair was parted to one side, slicked in honor of the black-tie event, presenting him much more handsome than he truly was. His smile too, which she had noted as she turned from the vanity, appeared particularly sincere and overjoyed; unusually so…the fact that it was alcohol induced was beyond her thoughts. Her mother's expression, though containing a smile, was somehow different, almost smug. She held her arms wide open for her daughter and Isabelle quickly mimicked the movements. While they hugged, Amy gushed with an eerie brightness to her tone, "My daughter: the first. They'll all be simply green with envy!"

The comment fell deaf on her daughter's ears. All that mattered to the young girl was that her parents had thrown a party, often reserved for young ladies of thirteen and older, for their only daughter.

"Can you imagine it, Geoffrey? Just think of the Lyons! Jacob, Judith and their so-called 'perfect' daughter, Jenny" the names were spat out harshly. "I'm so tired of hearing her gush about all her latest achievements. What I wouldn't give to see her face when she read the invitation. A year earlier than her own daughter's; just imagine!"

Geoffrey rolled his eyes at his wife's comment. "Yes dear…fabulous," he droned in agreement.

"Finally, I'll be the talk of the town! Say 'Goodbye' to the lime-light Judy," Amy venomous voice stung the air as if she were talking to the woman face-to-face.

That was the first time realization hit. Isabelle paused in her motions. While her arms were still wrapped about her mother's waist, her joyous expression slowly faded into confusion. She retreated from her mother, beginning to pull at the curtain of charm that those of high society draped over the truth of their cruel world.

"You lied," she scolded her mother quietly.

Utterly shocked, Amy's eyes grew wide. Her ten-year-old daughter had never before accused her. The outburst was odd and - with only moments before the entrance of her daughter was expected at the party below - terrifying.

"What are you talking about dear?" Amy noted the end of her sentence gliding up in pitch.

"This party isn't for me. It never was, was it? It's for you! You and all those people you hate so much!" Isabelle slowly began to choke on her words as her voice became louder with the growing aggression. "All those women from the country club, Judith, Ethel…The parents from the school, the teachers, everyone who you constantly complain about! You invited them for _you_, not their _children_ for me."

Now standing straight from his previously slouched position against the door post, Geoffrey Masters looked slowly from his daughter to his wife. He seemed to sober up at that moment, the plastered smile had left his face as his eyes squinted with resentment.

"Amy, take care of her. Make sure she doesn't make a scene when you bring her down to the party; I have both Matthew and Allen downstairs and if she ruins my chances at the final seat on the executive board…"

He paused mid-sentence, slowly turning his head back towards his daughter.

"She _will_ regret it."

Her father's final words were spoken through clenched teeth, reducing Isabelle's anger and allowing a new emotion – fear- to wash throughout her body, sending tiny goose-bumps across her skin.

With that he raised his hand to his mouth, allowing Isabelle to see – for the first time that night – her father's favorite choice of brandy in a lengthy glass bottle. Without so much as a second thought, Geoffrey continued down the elegant stair case, pushing the nearest maid out of his way as he stalked away.

Amy's wide eyes slowly narrowed as she turned to face her daughter. "Isabelle Masters, I don't care what you believe," she began in a voice too sweet to be true. "Eventually, every girl in this community will grow up to realize that she's nothing more than a pretty face for some boy to marry. I had to realize it eventually and it's high time you do. Now I don't care what you think; all I care about is that you behave as you should tonight."

Isabelle's tears began to slowly brim over, daintily ruining the make-up that covered her youthful face. In contrast, her mother's face seemed to be made of alabaster stone, carved with a straight mouth and unaffected by other's emotions. Her eyes had grown cold, the trace of happiness had left her tongue and it was then that Isabelle realized life would never be the same again.

Noting her daughter's newly formed tears, Amy continued.

"As I said, I don't care what you think, Isabelle. I simply want you downstairs when you hear your father announce your name and you will dance with any boy who requests it from you. No exceptions. Now clean your face off and have Giselle re-do it."

Before her mother exited the room, Amy looked pointedly at the maid and nodded, as if explaining her duties to her with a single expression. Then, she exited down the hall and followed the path the staircase provided. Isabelle took note of the fake smile pleasantly set upon her mother's face. The upside-down frown seemed so familiar, so simple; she quickly understood that all of her mother's smiles were practiced, fake lies. Isabelle stood stoic in her place, seemingly without a breath of air to provide a rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.

A hand gently touched her shoulder and a worried voice derailed her train of thought.

"Come now, Miss Masters, let's get you cleaned up."

In her short ten years of life, Isabelle was certain of two things. The first was that Giselle's voice had never been so shaky when speaking to her; the second being that Giselle had never once referred to her as "Miss Masters." As the maid led her to the vanity's seat, Isabelle's mouth gaped with a loss for words. While Giselle opened the case concealing the powdery substance and applied it to the young girl's face, the words were found.

"Giselle, please don't call me that. You never have before; I just want to be your little 'Sugar plum' again."

Isabelle hadn't meant for the words to come out as a soft cry, nevertheless they sounded like a plea as they vibrated in her ears. She looked up to see Giselle, her brow creased with a look of distress and regret.

"I'm sorry Miss Masters, but you're much too old now to be dreaming about ballerinas and fairies." Under her breath, Giselle softly added, "Your mother wouldn't approve now. You are a lady now, Miss Masters, no longer a child."

Giselle sat then, as stone-solid as her mother had been only moments before. Though she had not wanted to be the person her mother described, she felt the desire to impress others falling heavy on her shoulders. As she listened to Giselle state that she had finished reapplying the make-up, Isabelle turned to look in the mirror, surprised to see a young lady smiling from the reflection. Astonishment was wide in her eyes, but as she began to slowly comprehend the lifestyle she was expected to live, she – for some reason she could not entirely explain – felt motivated to continue her family's ruse.

Her father's well-rehearsed voice soon boomed from the base of the stairs in announcement.

"With that, it is my honor and delight to present you with our beautiful daughter – and young lady, Miss Isabelle Masters,"

She stood and continued to watch her image out of the corner of her eye. She took note of her straightened posture, the smile that looked so similar to her mother's, and –though it did not literally reflect- the newly conditioned mind of a young woman of her gated community.

Within moments she was gracefully trailing down the staircase, smiling and attempting to charm the hundreds who stood below. Her childhood smile was replaced with one of smug maturity, despite her young age as she hid her despise of a life lived as a hopelessly flawed, fake, and vulgar "prize for man."

However, as she reached the bottom of the staircase and kissed her mother and father accordingly, it was as if none of the events leading up to that moment had existed. At that moment, Isabelle Masters was more than she had ever dreamed possible; she no longer simply was. Instead, she was Isabelle Masters, the most charming young lady of ten years the town had ever seen. Finally, as the young Blake boy approached the base of her stairs and extended his hand to her own, the only idea which made her fearful was just how much she enjoyed cooperating with the horrific truth.

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A/N: I write too flowery...It's a pre-exisiting condition; I can't seem to shake it. Either way, I hope that the length was a little better than the previous chapter.

Also, keep in mind that this is a _terribly_ long story. Those of you who think it will be done soon...SORRY!


	4. Brother Beau's Background

The coming-out party had been a night of change for Isabelle Masters…in many ways.

In simple ways, it was the first night she had ever danced with a boy who was not her brother. Reginald was sweet, his light auburn hair was not something she had ever paid attention to before, but it was a feature she grew to admire by the end of the night. He seemed sweet enough, a gentleman like most of the adolescent boys in her class, but overall something about him was different. He smiled. While the others forced a gleeful expression, Reggie – as he'd asked her to call him during their second dance of the night – seemed honestly happy to dance with her. She enjoyed that about him, that he enjoyed her company. She was too young to think of marriage, but her first thoughts of like and love had his face flowing throughout.

In other -more difficult- ways, the night had been a memory she had wished she was able to forget. First of all, there was the fact that she now understood how her family, and supposedly the other families in the area, all viewed their positions in life. She had never thought herself particularly better than anyone else, only more privileged. She didn't like the thought that she was better; she was a much more selfless creature, only hoping that she could do something about it. However, being too young and too fearful of the repercussions she might bring upon herself if she did try to escape, she shoved the thoughts away and allowed them to brew for another time in life.

However, not at all related to her own emotions, was the second difficult part of the night. Beauregard, Isabelle's elder brother, had disappeared before the party had even begun. Throughout the night she had heard rumors that he was up to no good, even that he had been seen running around with the society's brotherhood of delinquents. When he had returned, an hour past two the next morning, he appeared incoherent though his lips pressed together in a thin, hard line. When her father had touched his son's arm to reprimand him, Beauregard had lashed out a vile string of words that Isabelle had failed to hear entirely since her mother immediately slapped her hands over her daughter's ears to obscure the words. Isabelle was sent to her room before anything further could happen before her young eyes and she was left to worry for her brother until the next day.

For weeks Beauregard sat at the family's dining table with distant eyes. He never seemed to smile any more either. Instead, Isabelle felt her elder brother fade from his loving, if not overprotective, personality. When she asked her mother why he had begun to act so differently in recent times her mother merely replied that he was growing up and she could no longer expect him to treat her as sweetly as he once did. Isabelle wasn't settled to easily with this remark, and thus, looked upon the weeks prior to her party. He had seemed angered when their parents had explained to them of her party and now she wondered if that was the reason for the change in his behavior. Jealousy, she had thought at first, but that was unlike her brother. In fact, until her parent's announcement, she had been her brother's best friend, he was always laughing, giving her time and attention when her parents were too busy. No, he wasn't jealous; but what was bothering him had to be big.

Beauregard's jumbled behavior continued for three years, until he was two months away from eighteen years – his turning point as an adult. At eighteen, he would be sent to the college, to live in the expensive dormitories all the parent's of Sufisticatown sent their children. In those past three years, she had only seen her brother smile twice. The first was when she had snuck into his room, two weeks after her party.

"_Beau?" her voice sounded small, even to herself, and she wondered if she had the confidence to face his stoic stare all by herself._

"_Issy, it's past your bedtime. What are you doing here?" It was the first time she heard him speak in those two weeks and his voice startled her. There was a faint glow coming from the lamp that rested by his bed, but it seemed more eerie than warm as she continued into her brother's room. However, the affectionate nick-name, which only he ever used, helped slightly; it showed he hadn't gone too far. _

"_I couldn't sleep. I'm worried." She walked slowly towards his bed and stopped in line with the footboard, afraid that her brother might be upset as she interrupted his reading time. When he placed his book down on the bed stand she relaxed visibly._

"_Worried about what?" He answered immediately. "Has anything happened to you? Are you hurt? Who did it to you?" He had moved from underneath his covers to stand beside her, worry filling his eyes as he looked pointedly at his sister and barely took a breath between his questions, never even allowing her a time to answer._

"_N-no," she finally breathed. This frantic version of her brother was not at all what she was accustomed to. "W-who could h-h-hurt me?" Perhaps her mother had been right, getting out of bed after the specified bedtime was not a good idea. Despite her age, everything seemed to be scaring her._

"_Too many things; the world's darker than I ever thought possible," Beauregard stated gravely as he sat back on the edge of the bed and looked up at his sister with eyes that appeared almost too frightened and altogether innocent for a young man his age._

_Isabelle felt a surge of pity wash over her as all her fears disappeared when she noted her brother's reactions. "It's OK, Beau, I'll protect you."_

_He did more than smile then, he laughed. It wasn't dark laughter, but it wasn't entirely happy. She walked over and hugged him, the top of her head resting beneath his chin as she did so. He laughed again, though it was lighter this time as he returned the hug. They stayed in their embrace for what seemed like an eternity for the younger sibling. As Beauregard finally let go of his little sister, she stepped back and smiled, noting his brightened expression._

"_Thank you, Issy." He breathed with a fading smile._

"_You're welcome Beau," she stated while leaving his room._

The second time, however, was a much darker memory, despite his shining smile. It was the night exactly two months before he turned eighteen.

"_Issy, Issy wake up!"_

_Isabelle turned to her bed stand and saw the small clock hands signify the early hour._

"_It's four o'clock, Beau," the thirteen-year-old mumbled before she realized that her brother was speaking without the solemn look in his eyes. This realization jarred her awake and she sat straight up in her bed. "What happened, are you alright? Is it Mother and Father? Did something happen to them? What is it, Beau?"_

_Her brother laughed, the sound reminded Isabelle of wind hitting chimes the simple people of Coolsville hung outdoors on their porches._

"_Nothing happened, Issy; not yet. But it will. Today is the day everything changes. Today, I'm going to be happy. One day, you will be too. When you wake up our parents will be very upset. Mother will be distraught and Father will be angry. Don't worry, it's not because of you. I'll see you again, just remember that. Whenever you miss me, just remember how much I love my books and read through them. You'll find me in them."_

_She could barely comprehend his words, not for the content, but because she was so entranced by his smile; it hadn't been that bright even when everything was good in her life._

"_I don't understand," she spoke hesitantly, each word spoken so deliberately that it sounded as if it was its own sentence._

"_That's alright. You will one day, Issy."_

_With that, he rose from her beside and looked towards her bedroom exit. There was a balcony which was close to one of the many trellises that was wound with vines about the estate. She was beginning to understand too quickly for her liking. As he ran to the doors of the balcony and opened them silently she cried out with a gentle sob._

"_But I'll never see you again, Beau," he voice trailed off as tears brimmed over the edge of her eyes._

"_One day, Issy. I promise you. Now, go to sleep."_

_She then watched him exit onto the balcony and turn to shut the doors behind himself. He held onto and crossed over the balcony's walls. Isabelle tossed the covers from her frame and ran to her balcony. She threw open the doors, not caring if they made a loud noise or not, and looked over the balcony to check on her brother's safety – even his sanity. She noted him land safely onto the ground and run past the driveway. As he exited the large iron gates of the estate she watched as he turned back hesitantly to look at the only home he had ever known. His face was twisted with disgust, but as he noted his little sister watching him, he smiled softly. Even with distance separating the two siblings, she noted a small whisper floating across the wind, "One day, Issy. One day."_

**A/N: There are so many foretelling plotlines woven in this chapter, even I'm curious as to how they will all play out and affect the future of this story and its characters! =)**


	5. The Nightmare

She woke with a fright. "Beau! Don't go!" Isabelle's voice was silenced just as quickly as it came. That dreaded nightmare plagued her once more for the hundredth time in the past three years. He mother no longer came into the room when she heard her child cry for her lost brother and her father never showed signs of being phased by it either. It was as if neither parent recalled the boy, cared to think of him, nor cared to help Isabelle through the heartbreak his absence had caused her…In a way, that only continued the nightmare.

However, to have her mother cradle her was much too silly to ask for at this point in her life. After all, several years had passed and Isabelle masters was no longer the child she had once been. Throwing off her bed sheets and covers in order to ready herself for the day, Isabelle contemplated the changes she had endured in the past years. The most notable was her reflection. As she stared to the mirror, her image reflecting an entirely different person than the child of the night of her coming out party, she saw a girl she barely recognized. Over the years, her bobbed blond hair had faded into the same dull brown shade of her mother's coloring and the pounds of baby fat were shed, revealing an average height female of girls her age with a slender, if not sporty form.

Her looks, however, were not the only reason she didn't recognize herself. Instead, her attitude had changed considerably over the past six years since her coming out party. Though it was obviously full of phony smiles and false affection, it appeared as if Isabelle and her mother had the best of relationships. Her father, likewise, pretended to dote on constantly when out in public though she often wondered if he remembered her existence when at home. What changed in her was the way she responded to it all, with such understanding and cooperation. The people she supposed kept her grounded with a balance to all the façade were merely two in count. First there was Giselle, as sweet and nurturing as ever, the maid remained her faithful and truest motherly influence over the years. Secondly, there was Jenkins, a younger and relatively new employee who, despite being only in his late twenties had the air and erudition of a far more mature and wiser soul. He often advised Isabelle on what were the correct choices to make, without making her feel as if she was being bossed toward one route or the other.

Then, in an uncertain place, the Blake boy stood. Of course, he meant much more to her now. Over their years of friendship, "The Blake boy" became "Reginald," then "Reggie," and where it currently stood he was often referred to by Isabelle as "Reggie-dear" and she to him as "Issy-darling." The affectionate names were the type the children of Coolsville would mock, but to those dwelling in Sufisticatown, the names were simply a commonplace way to show affection. Nevertheless, though he charmed her nearly each time they were together, Isabelle was uncertain if his actions were merely another façade. Her mother's words echoed constantly; Isabelle was "just another pretty face to be married." Despite his denial, each time they were together, Isabelle couldn't help but wonder if Reginald Blake believed that to be her only reason for life as well.

Despite the many differences she saw reflected before her in the mirror, Isabelle couldn't help but feel as if the town was closing in and suffocating her of her every breath. Each day since Beauregard had left felt just like every other; the winds came, blowing one season swiftly into another, and that appeared to be the only way she could separate the years. Other than that, there was no difference; school took up most of her schedule, while parties with friends and courting with Reggie filled in the remaining gaps. Though change was obvious in her reflection, Isabelle continued to stare, wondering just how long she would have to wait for something truly big to come and shake up her life. Little did she know, it was just around the corner.


	6. His Name

The year was non-important, as most years aren't. What did matter was that in that year two souls would connect between two very unlikely candidates…children. Though the world often views love as something intangible, rare, and hard to come by, some might argue that children knew best. Unlike adults, or even teenagers, children rarely view the world with skepticism, racial prejudices, and overall pessimism. Thus, when these two soul-mates met, their eyes and hearts were not tainted by the worries of the world.

When they first met, she was only five-years-old; he was seven. Together, they would learn friendship, love, loyalty, and heartbreak. But that day was merely the beginning, the beginning of their future and blissful life with one another. That was the day he learned to smile.

Linda Mary Mostel. The name was short, sweet and simple. Her mother had chosen it exactly for those reasons, citing to her own husband that names such as "Olga" and "Gertrude" never fit a baby girl in her mind and a name like "Johanna" was something she would have to grow into and she wouldn't want that for her daughter. Thus, a short, simple name was chosen, one that was sweet with a delicate touch and "perfect for any age."

An only child, Linda was fortunate to have her mother quit her place of employment in order to stay at home and raise her accordingly. The two were nearly inseparable playmates during those first five years as her mother was rather kind and nurturing and did her best to raise her daughter in the same way. Her father, likewise, enjoyed taking his daughter to the park every other evening where they would have a special moment to feed the ducks at the shallow pond, play on the swings, or help one another cross the jungle gym set. It was due to this occasion that, as her father was away on a business trip, Linda's mother promised to take her daughter to the park in the morning before their errands for the day were to be done.

The swing's un-oiled chains squeaked as she pushed and pulled with her arms while seated upon the contraption. With her thin and small stature, it was much easier for Linda to continue twisting herself than enabling the swing to continue in a straight pattern. Her chestnut braided hair lifted and fell with the wind as she swerved through the air on the swing. She looked up to find her mother speaking with another parent who had brought their child to the park that morning, both relaxing from the heat underneath the shade of a large oak tree; that was why she didn't notice him when he first crossed her path and made his way behind her.

His hand automatically reached up, grabbing a chain of the swing she was riding. "Oh!" She squeaked, surprise not masked in her voice as the interruption jolted her movements. She looked behind to see who had stopped her fun. She had never seen the boy before; he was much taller than she (though most children were), and looked as if he had been playing in mud and sand for the majority of the day, if not the week, and didn't have the slightest intention of showering. His clothes were too small for his body, as if he had entered a growth spurt and no one had cared to buy him appropriately fitted clothing; other than that, he looked kept enough, only his shoes had holes in them. Still, she frowned at him, upset that he had stopped her mid-swing. Her frown was accompanied by a furrowed brow, a silly sight on a child so young and frail.

"Who are you?" Linda questioned her voice was appropriate to her small stature.

The boy took a step back and cocked his head to the side, the sun shone into his eyes, causing him to squint. He didn't answer, but merely shook the chain in reply as if Linda was supposed to understand his inaudible dialect.

"What?" Linda asked, her short temper already being set off by her curiosity.

"Mine." Was all that came from the boy's lips. It was a deep voice for one who could be no more than seven; yet it's tone was soft and gentle, as if he was embarrassed.

"I saw it first!" Linda replied. The childlike behavior could have continued the rest of the day; after all, both were exactly that: Children. Despite this, the boy stopped first. His brown eyes un-squinted as he turned from the direction of the sun and ran off. Curiosity sparked in Linda, however, as she watched him go. She jumped off the swing and followed as closely behind him as her petite form would allow. Never in her life had someone given up on her that easily, instead, she was used to hearing the reasons behind the matter; this boy was different and she was determined to know more about him.

When she reached his stopping point she found herself underneath the jungle gym, shaded from the heat of the summer month. "Who are you?" she asked again, indifferent to his answer so long as she received one.

It was silent very long, at least as far as time in a child's mind in concerned, and Linda eventually placed her hands upon her hips in an impatient manner. He looked up at her with confusion, one eye-brow dipping low while one was raised particularly high. Once more, the boy gave in. "Herring."

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AN: I bet none of you guessed that! ...Actually, you probably did since there's only one little kid who looks like that in Scooby Universe (that I can think of at the moment).

Either way, I figured that I've been a horrible author having not posted in a while since life has got in the way of things, so these two chapters in one day were my apology. Hopefully they are a good enough one for you...even though their both short. Sorry about that.

Still, there is much more to come soon, so stay with me for the ride SDFF readers, I promise many twists, turns, bumps, and broken hearts ahead. After all, this is love, is it not?


	7. Holy Macaroni

Over the years, Herring had met many children at Coolsville Park. Unfortunately, most whom he encountered were bashful little girls who were intimated by his stocky, unkempt appearance or boys who mocked him for his social awkwardness. Due to these futile interactions, Herring had become a standoffish young boy who no longer attempted much interaction unless he felt the need. Linda proved different immediately.

Unlike he had expected Herring's juvenile declaration for the swing had not deterred the young girl in any way; she did not cry, run to her mother, or allow him his demands in any way. Instead, she countered him, following him when he ran from her, uncertain of what to say to the young girl who responded so differently than what he had become accustomed to. When she did not leave him alone, he knew that there was no choice in denying her line of questioning.

The boy was uncharacteristically shy for a child so large; most his size, as far as Linda had encountered, were usually boisterous and the change surprised her. Being rather outgoing herself, she became impatient while awaiting his reply. Finally, he spoke. "Herring."

The name was unusual, and although she was frightfully sociable for a child so young in that time, she had been raised to use manners and not mock others. Keeping this in mind Linda smiled and extended her hand, mimicking the motions she so often saw her elders repeat when making a new acquaintance. "I'm Mary, Herring; it's nice to meet you."

Herring slowly drew near, taking his hand slowly out of his back pocket, and lightly touched the tips of his fingers to her. "You too," he replied in a gruff yet tentative manner.

The instant his fingers touched hers Linda giggled and grabbed tightly a hold of his hand and shook it vigorously. Her laughter shocked him; though he often heard many children laugh while at the playground it was never because they were happy when with him. Looking down into her soft brown eyes Herring was quickly overwhelmed with emotions that he had not before experienced. As the boy would later describe it, warmth seemed to come from inside his upper chest, flow throughout his body and end up producing an itch to lift the corners of his mouth in similar fashion to the girl before him. In simplicity and actually, Linda had seen it all: Herring had smiled.

As with many children, the friendship came quickly and moved fluidly after that moment. For nearly an hour's time the two were inseparable, climbing about the gym set pretending and imaging as only children do. At Linda's request, they agreed to travel through the Amazon jungles. While Mrs. Mostel looked on she spotted the two jumping from cobble stone above the sand in attempt not to step into any "pits of quicksand," crossing the monkey bars in order to "Swing from tree to tree! Quickly! Avoid angering the chimps!", and finally gravitate down the slide to "Go down the waterfall!"

Though amused with their childish ways and obvious joy, Mrs. Mostel did not watch without noticing the obvious lack of care applied to the boy's hygiene. Her thoughts were interrupted however, as the mother beside resumed speaking of such things that mothers often do and her thoughts escaped her for a time. Meanwhile, the children played on.

"You're different, Linda," Herring spoke with a booming laughter accompanying as they 'plopped' at the bottom of the slide, ending their Amazon amusements.

"Daddy says different is wonderful," Linda replied, taking the boys hand in her own and tugging him towards the shade underneath the jungle gym.

"Is your Daddy nice?" The question was simply that, no fear, nor much curiosity for such a question that surprised Linda.

"Of course he is; isn't your Daddy?" She replied in a surprised state, nearly upset that he implied her father could be any other way.

"I don't really know," Herring paused, contemplating his answer.

At seven years old there is much left for a child to learn, but it does not mean he is currently incompetent. Herring had seen other children with their fathers while at the park; he had even sworn that Linda was not an altogether new face for him (though he had never spoke to her before that day) and that he had seen her with her father at least half a dozen times. He knew very well what a father was in correlation to a child, but was unaware as to where or who his own father was. He watched his mother go off to work the same way most of the fathers did and though he didn't ask, he knew that he must have had a father at one time. His mother, though, he understood was not like others and so he simply accept that his father must not have been like most either.

"I've never met my father; but I'm sure he's different. If your father says different is wonderful, than my father must be too!" Herring articulated his point clearly and with a matter of fact attitude that made Linda agree instantly.

Being children, the adult matter did not rest for long in their conversation and the two quickly resumed their imaginary play. Linda, who obviously carried the bolder imagination of the two, requested their next play be "house," her thoughts having traveled from their previous discussion. Finding it difficult to refuse the pixie-like girl whatever she wished Herring consented. He was quickly told, however, that they needed to be married first, since Linda declared her "mother wouldn't find it proper any other way."

Linda told Herring in an adorably docile way where to stand and to smile when he saw her walking towards him. When she reached the imaginary alter where Herring stood, she giggled at his silent ways.

"Herring," Linda observed, "You have to tell me you love me and that we'll eat holy macaroni."

"I love you, Linda; what's holy macaroni?" Herring repeated with a large smile despite his ignorance.

"It's a food my mommy makes, and holy means it's really good; they talked about it at my Aunt's wedding, maybe you can come to my house and eat some tomorrow."

Finding her description and invitation satisfactory, Herring simply nodded and was about to continue with their play when he watched Linda's head turn immediately towards the old Oak where her mother previously sat. His attention, likewise, slowly drifted towards the fully stretched figure with medium height and rather short hair in comparison to most at the time. The smile on her face made her seem radiant and energetic, an older version of her daughter in so many ways. The floppy derby hat she wore made him smile as well, reminding him of women on the posters for movies. Her sundress was white with a bright yellow ribbon around the waist and color seemed to fit her entirely, a warm bright shade of sunshine. He nodded to himself, Linda was just like her mother, full of warmth, energy, and a certain gentleness of women during that time.

" Hurry sweetheart, you don't want Daddy to be waiting on his Firefly to wash up for dinner, do you?" Mrs. Mostel's voice was much gentler than anticipated and Herring instantly decided it sounded 'right' coming from a mother.

In response Linda smiled and shouted, "No mother!"

She turned about on her toes, mimicking the movements of a young ballerina as she turned to face Herring once again. Being that he was much taller, she bounced upon her toes and placed an innocent peck of care and warmth upon his cheek. The warm summer breeze picked up just then and seemed to carry her from him as she ran off to her mother giggling and soon began walking away hand in hand with her mother.

Herring watched until they reached the edge of the park, unable to contain himself any longer. He ran quickly after them while he smiled and shouted, "Linda, Linda!"

Both Linda and her mother immediately paused in their stride and turned on their heels to face the young boy with matching smiles. Linda tilted her head with a happy curiosity and quickly responded to his calls of her name. "What is it, Herring?"

He paused a moment, allowing the air to come back into his lungs first, "I want marry you."

Thankfully, Linda's mother was aware of her daughter's active imagination and had overheard the childrens' games prior to their leave, so she was able to cover any looks of surprise with a small, sweet smile. Linda, however, disassociated the play from real life and smiled bashfully at his request. She slowly let go of her mother's hand and took a step closer to Herring. She timidly took his hand in her own and giggled before saying, "Tomorrow we can have macaroni and when we get older, I'll marry you for forever."

Happy with her avowal, Herring kissed her cheek lightly as she had done earlier and quickly ran back to the playground. Meanwhile, Linda's mother watched him with a special care and curiosity; something about the young boy was different and she was determined to help him no matter the trouble. Additionally, she admired the gentleness she saw in him and thought the puppy love between the two was perhaps what the young boy needed more than anything else. Her daughter's cheerful voice slowly tore her from the thoughts. "Will you be at my wedding, Mommy?"

"Of course dear," Herring heard her distantly reply. "But first, let's go home and plan a picnic for us and your friend Herring tomorrow. We can brings macaroni, grapes…"

Herring smiled as the voices trailed off into the distance, leaving him for the day as all voices usually did. However, smile wasn't because the voices left, but because the warmth of the promise of "tomorrow" stayed with him long after they had gone.

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**A.N. Just for clarification, this chapter and the previous occur at a different time period from the Blake/Masters story-line. Eventually, however, everything will make sense. I promise. Also, if you are still sticking with this story, a HUGE thank you. Today I finished the outline for it, so I'm hoping to update it at least once a week now, I'm so sorry for the previous hiatus. - Emmalie "TaR**"


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